The Burden of Responsibility
by crimescenelover
Summary: Scott Lang didn't think any of them would understand the pain and loss of what they had done. That is until he finds an unlikely ally in one Clint Barton. Post-Civil War


**Title:** The Burden of Responsibility

 **Author's Note:** So I was watching Civil War again the other day and then this idea sort of stuck with me and it didn't really want to leave. I thought of the implications for both Scott and Clint who had families they probably wouldn't see them again for a long time seeing as how they are on the run.

So this small one-shot was written in exploring that. And I hope you will find it within yourselves to leave a review on thoughts after reading. Let me know!

Enjoy!

 **Disclaimer:** I claim no ownership of any characters and places you might recognize. All credits go to Marvel, Disney and whoever else is involved. Written for entertainment purposes only.

* * *

Scott Lang had never felt more out of place.

Here he was, surrounded by some of the strongest and infamous, albeit by some hated, Avengers. They all knew each other on some level, some had stronger ties than others, but they had all fought together before, talked to each other. And then there was him.

He simply stood there, feeling useless and out of his element. He didn't have any idea what to do. He didn't dare move in case he ended up in the way of somebody so he settled for leaning against one of the walls, dividing the small kitchen from the living room of their newest residence.

Captain Rogers had found a lousy ramshackle cabin out in the middle of nowhere in a country no one knew what was. All they knew was that it was the first shore they had come upon and that had been good enough. How Rogers had managed to secure the small jet to transport them out of the Raft Scott knew not to question. It had been enough to fly them across the wild, vast sea until they reached land. From there they had ditched the jet and walked on foot to their current hiding place. Safety reasons no doubt, Scott had mused as they had reached the destination a three and a half hours' march later.

That was the whole purpose of the Raft, he supposed. Not knowing where the hell you ended up should you ever be skilled or lucky enough to escape.

He still couldn't believe this was his life now. Never in a million years had he imagined he would end up here when he agreed to be the Ant-Man. He had not only met Captain America, but fought beside him. He stood against Iron Man and War Machine and the freaking Black Widow and he didn't die. Scott briefly wondered if his deal in life would be to fight other avengers and walk away from it, still breathing. But this was so much bigger than just a simple heist.

He was a fugitive now. A dangerous, wanted man. Scott wasn't exactly unfamiliar with criminal territory, but this was a whole other ballgame. Looking around at the sullen faces, he knew it was for the rest of them too.

Captain America was still moving about, he seemed unable to stay still for more than a few minutes, making sure everyone was tended to. It was an odd sight, seeing Captain America without his attire and easily recognizable shield. He had insisted early on that Scott stop calling him Captain.

"It's just Steve Rogers now," he had said solemnly and Scott hadn't questioned that. He probably couldn't get a decent answer out of him anyway. He didn't know the man well enough for details.

The Falcon, Sam Wilson, had never quite left Rogers' side. He was a bit more stationary though. He had found a polished wooden chair and planted himself in it, his body unmoving but his eyes shifting between tracking Rogers' movements and the last two people in the living room.

Wanda Maximoff, the Scarlet Witch, occupied one corner of the couch. She had curled up on it, hugging her knees tight to her chest and staring into the empty space. Hawkeye was by her side. He had been the one to place her ion the couch in the first place and had placed a thin blanket around her shoulders. Out of their little party, Wanda was no doubt the one who looked the most shaken. It was no surprise really. She was by far the youngest and had spent her time in the Raft wrapped in a straitjacket, unable to move, with a collar to keep her from using her powers. It's no wonder she was shaken. Barton hadn't left her side since their escape. He had made sure she kept up with their pace and that she wasn't too cold, despite her protests that she was fine. Scott had heard them silently speaking, both as they had arrived in their little cabin and during their trek through the wilderness to get here, but he hadn't been close enough to discern their words and he hadn't tried getting closer. It had clearly been private.

He looked on as the archer squeezed her shoulder before getting up to move into the kitchen where Steve Rogers was currently standing. He moved past Ant-Man without acknowledging his presence, though he stood almost next to the door frame.

It took a few seconds before Scott realized the two men had started talking in the next room and that he was in a perfect position to listen in. He didn't mean to eavesdrop, figuring he might end up getting murdered if the former SHIELD assassin found out. But he had literally nothing else to do so he just stood there like he had done for the past half hour and listened tentatively.

"How's Wanda doing?" Steve asked.

"Tired, like the rest of us," Barton answered with a sigh. "She's shaken, as she should be. They treated her like a terrorist. It's gonna be awhile before she can relax."

"And you?"

"Being hunted isn't anything new to me, Cap." His tone was light but hinted to something darker in his past Scott knew nothing about.

Rogers didn't correct Barton as he called him 'Cap'.

"And your family?" Steve gently continued.

A silence followed and Barton didn't answer for a while. Scott allowed this information to actually sink in. A frown creased his eyebrows. Hawkeye with a family? The thought seemed absurd given his profession, former and current. Not that he was one to judge. He had taken up the Ant-Man mantle without much thought for what it could end up doing to his little girl. But the more he thought about it, the more it made sense. The archer was clearly protective over that Maximoff girl in a way only a father could be. And Scott had caught him gazing briefly at a piece of paper before the airport disaster. It had seemed ragged and worn at the edges, like it had been folded and refolded several times over the years. No doubt it had been a picture of his family. Scott knew, because he did the same thing for his girl. He always carried his Peanut around with him. She gave him strength, probably in much the same way Barton's family did for him.

He was pulled from his musings as Barton finally answered. When he did, his voice was quiet and filled with something Scott couldn't quite identify.

"They're safe. I'll be damned if I pull them down with me …"

A second of silence and then Rogers spoke again, sounding apologetic and careful. "I'm sorry I dragged you into this."

"You didn't drag me into anything. You asked and I agreed. The only one who's to blame is me. I knew what I was getting into." Barton's voice turned somber. "Now I'm paying the price. And I gotta live with it."

At first Scott didn't quite follow what Barton was talking about. Until it dawned on him. It struck him like lightening from a cloudless sky and left him unable to take in a proper breath. The final aspect he had, as of yet, failed to consider. He was a fugitive from the government, a lot of governments in fact. And with that title came all the perks. He couldn't simply go home from here, not to his friends and not to his Peanut. He had left her completely alone. It tore at his heart; the sudden realization that he wouldn't see or hold his daughter again for a really long time. And that was if he was ever lucky enough to shed the weight of a wanted man.

But with that horrifying thought came also a sudden comforting one; he wasn't alone with that feeling. He had thought he was the only one with a kid and that none of the others would ever be able to quite understand the heavy price he had just paid, helping Captain America. But there was one.

There was one who would understand completely.

* * *

Clint handed the steaming cup of tea he had made to Wanda.

She took it from his hands with a grateful smile and curled her slim fingers around the cup. Her whole body folded together as if the cup was a warm center of protection that she could coil herself around, shielding her from the events of the past few weeks. He had never thought of Wanda as delicate or fragile, not once, but in that moment Clint had never seen her look smaller or every bit her young age as she did right there. She had no doubt suffered the worst during their capture and time in the Raft. Sometimes it was easy to forget how young and inexperienced she was compared to the rest of them. But she was also immensely strong as she had been through more than a girl her age should have had to. She would pull through this as well once everything blew over. She just needed a little time and until then Clint would be there to make sure she did.

He put a reassuring hand on her knee, squeezing gently. She looked up at him with her big, green eyes and a small, genuine smile passed over her lips, letting him know she was okay for the moment.

Admiring her bravery, while also swallowing down the sting that came when she reminded him of Lila, Clint smiled back briefly and seeing there was nothing else he could do, he headed for the front door. He desperately needed some air. He needed to get away, to find higher ground where he could find some perspective. Where he could think. His insides where screaming and turning and he felt claustrophobic cooped up in this little ramshackle cabin and if he didn't get out soon, he feared he might implode. As much as he trusted some of those people in there with him, it wasn't something he wished for them to see. The circle of people who knew about his family was already way too big, especially considering Stark had probably blabbed to someone by now. He didn't need Lang or Wilson to know about his secret as well.

In a perfect world he would have scaled the highest tree he could find but he figured with the conditions being as they were at the moment, splitting away on his own wasn't the smartest move. Instead he opted for the second best option there was: the gnarly roof of the cabin. Fortunately, it was much sturdier than it looked and held his weight easily. Still, he kept to the sides where the support would be thickest.

Sighing, he gazed up at the night sky. Dark clouds covered most of it and kept away the bright shine of the stars. The moon was a vague round circle, barely breaking through the thick cloud cover. The wind rustled in the trees and tore at the tops, keeping the clouds in motion and chilling his skin. It was a gloomy night and it fitted perfectly with Clint's mood.

He was exhausted, fatigue seeping deep into his bones. He hadn't been able to feel it before. It was only now when the adrenaline had started to wear off properly. Along with the fatigue came the guilt and despair. He would never regret standing up for what was right. He would never regret fighting for his friends, even if that meant fighting _against_ some of them too. He knew he could still count on Natasha, even though they had exchanged blows. What he did regret was dropping his family on the floor. Laura deserved so much better and now she was alone. Alone with Cooper, Lila and Nathaniel. He had left them there, defenseless and utterly alone.

It had been easy to blame Stark. Lord knows, he didn't make it difficult to do so. Tony had his faults, a lot of them, but he wasn't a bad man. Most of what he did was for the good of everyone, even though it was practically impossible to spot sometimes. Stark may have set this in motion, and he surely didn't help matters, but at the end of the day it came down to a choice. His own.

No, he didn't hate Tony Stark. He knew who the hatred was directed at. He knew what this burning feeling in his chest really was. He had certainly been acquainted with it several times in his life already. It was loathing. Not of Stark, but of himself.

Bitterly he knew Stark had been right. What had he been thinking? Certainly not of his family.

He couldn't go back to them. Not until his name was cleared. He didn't know if that would ever happen and even if it did, it might still be too dangerous for them. Stark, for all his faults and fuck-ups through all of this, would no doubt make sure they didn't lack anything. Natasha would help out too, if she could. But she was marked just as he was. He meant what he had said to Steve earlier. He knew what the risks had been before he made the decision. He hadn't jumped into this blindly. He knew and he went ahead and did it anyway. He had claimed retirement; he wanted to spend more time with his family, to be there for them when they needed it. Sokovia had been an eye-opener in that aspect. Nearly losing his life, only to have no more than a kid sacrificing himself so that he could live … It still tore at him. Yet it hadn't been enough to keep him out of the game. Not completely.

Clint tried to swallow the dry lump in his throat, but he couldn't. He had let them down. Over and over again and this time he had completely turned his back and failed them.

The sound of the front door opening tore him from his miserable existence. He heard the person walk across the porch and awkwardly make the climb on the banisters. His first suspect was Steve coming to check on him; that man never could leave well enough alone. He quickly ran a hand across his face to wipe away any moisture that might have gathered.

But out of everybody in the cabin he imagined to join him on top this lonely, cold rooftop, Scott Lang's rugged face was the last of them.

"Hi, what are you doing on the roof?" he asked casually.

"Getting some peace and quiet," Clint flatly answered. He had been in no mood for a pep-talk from Steve; he was even less in the mood for a talk with Ant-Man.

It didn't sway the former thief. "Mind if I join you?" he simply said and then proceeded to climb onto the roof with more elegance than Clint would have probably given him credit for.

"Doesn't seem like I have a choice," Clint mumbled. Whether it was in his favor or not, it didn't seem like Scott had heard his remark. Either that or he was just ignoring it.

Whatever the case, Ant-Man settled himself down heavily a few feet away from Clint and looked around briefly curiously. He shivered slightly in the chill wind.

"Cosy," he remarked with a wry smile.

Clint didn't answer. He focused on putting his mask back on knowing it had slipped from his face the moment he thought he was going to be alone. The last person he wished to see him falling apart was Scott Lang. He had run a very quick background check on the man before picking him up and had fought beside him but in the end he didn't know the man at all.

Lang seemed to pick up on Clint's mood and instantly the smile disappeared from his lips. Instead he looked solemn and wary, a complete opposite of what Clint had seen on that man's face.

"I actually came to ask you something," Scott eventually ventured.

He took Clint's silence as confirmation and continued in a tentative voice. "Are you hoping to see your family soon?"

Clint shot him a hard stare he normally saved for the criminals he faced. Scott had the decency to squirm underneath it and he cleared his throat quickly as he explained rather rapidly:

"It's just … No, I mean I've seen you with that Maximoff kid and I noticed your photograph in Germany so I just …"

Clint let his eyes fall. Perhaps it was a good thing he had retired; he was clearly slipping. For a second he let the man beside him twitch in the silence. Then he answered. "It doesn't matter. I can't go back. None of us can. Not right now."

Scott's eyes fell curiously and his shoulders sagged. It was like he was hoping for a different answer, disappointed when it had been exactly what he suspected.

"Did you know this could happen before you agreed to help?" he then asked, his eyes never leaving the roof under his boots.

"I figured it could be an outcome," Clint honestly replied. The words tasted poisonous as they rolled over his tongue and shame washed over him. Perhaps that was why more words came out of his mouth even though he didn't want to. "I thought I might be protecting them."

"How?" Scott asked confused.

"With the Sokovia Accords. The registration; it meant making my family and myself more public than I wanted, so I stayed away. And then Steve asked for help and I figured that if I did, perhaps there was a way I could still offer my services, do some good, without pulling my family into harm's way."

"I didn't even think that far. I just jumped in with both feet," Lang replied with a huff. "I didn't even think about my family."

Clint turned his head with a surprised jerk. Scott put his hand in his pocket and pulled out a small photograph, offering it to the archer.

Clint took it slowly. It was of a small brown-haired girl, dressed in a pink outfit. She was smiling widely up at him, a gap in the middle of her toothy grin. He felt his fatherly heart clench painfully at the sight.

"That's my little Peanut," Lang fondly explained, a pride in his voice only a father could produce. "Her name's Cassie."

"She's beautiful," Clint genuinely said and handed the photo back. Lang took it, gazing at it with a deep love before tucking it safely away again.

"I don't think any of the others will understand," Scott grumbled then, a sadness etched into his voice now. "I mean they will be understanding and supportive but … They will never _know_."

Clint looked out at the darkness and the trees, which seemed to stretch on forever. His mind was turning and twisting. Scott Lang had a family too; he had someone waiting for him at home. Someone, who couldn't understand why he couldn't come and kiss her goodnight. Why her father wasn't there anymore. More than anything Clint felt a sudden connection with the man sitting beside him. Although they were basically strangers, acquaintances at best, they shared something Clint didn't share with any of the others. And Scott was right. The rest of them understood to a certain point but they would never be able to put themselves in his shoes completely and _know_.

"No," he steadily answered. "They won't."

For awhile they just sat there in the darkness, letting the cold wind turn their faces and bodies numb. Both men seemed caught up in their own thoughts, no doubt filled with their family's faces and their hearts thumbing away painfully and longingly.

Scott was the first one to break the silence. His voice was low and raspy. "Do you think we will ever see them again?"

"One day," Clint answered. Even as he said the words out loud he found he didn't believe them, not fully.

Life normally didn't work out that way. He had been lucky to have been dealt a second chance at starting his life over. And he had been fortunate, so fortunate, to meet Laura. It was Laura who had truly opened his eyes as well as his heart. And she had put up with so much on his part. But he didn't deserve her forgiveness for this.

They had barely spoken before he left. She told him she understood but there was something in her voice that hadn't been present all the other times he had said goodbye. She seemed to know he wouldn't be coming back, at least for a good while, and that it wouldn't be like everything else they had faced before. He had abandoned his family for the sake of a broken team and the despair that followed that statement threatened to swallow him up. He wasn't sure if he would ever see his family again.

But the two words seemed to ease Scott Lang beside him and his head rose with the confidence that ran through his body at the confirmation. He truly believed it. Clint didn't believe. But seeing the hope on the other father's face lifted him slightly and a delicate flickering of faith was kindled.

And for now that would have to do.

 **The End**


End file.
